


Per Curiam

by OUATLovr



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, Courtroom Drama, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 14:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7056298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OUATLovr/pseuds/OUATLovr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU where Jaime Lannister, son of the wealthy CEO and former senator Tywin Lannister, is on trial for the assasination of Aerys Targaryen, pleading the fifth and facing the death penalty while his father scrambles to save him, the Targaryen heir attempts to avenge her father, and the Lannister family attempts to coexist in this time of hardship...yeah, forget peacefully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. JAIME

**Author's Note:**

> This work will be a series of short pieces that take place over several years' worth of time and will not be in chronological order, but eventually tell a full story. Hopefully things won't get too confusing.

"You've really fucked up this time, Big Brother," Tyrion greeted amicably as he stepped into the empty hallway.

Jaime hadn't technically been placed into solitary confinement, but their father, insisting that a Lannister shouldn't be forced to associate, even in a high security prison, with "those useless cretins who waste tax money," and so he had this entire wing of the jail to himself, which was like solitary confinement, except when his Lannister-approved guards came to visit.

Or when his father did, usually to reprimand him or remind him how hopeless this situation was, though, to Jaime, it looked rather like his father was handling it with the same aplomb and amount of bribery that he handled everything else.

"Imp," he greeted, without heat, as his brother came up to stand in front of the bars seperating them.

Tyrion's lips twitched. "Father told me to stay in Bravos. I don't think he wanted any more limelight shed on his disappointing sons, but I came anyway." He lifted something that looked suspiciously like a flask to his lips, and Jaime's eyes narrowed. "You know me. Couldn't miss the shitshow, even if it's not Cersei, this time."

"Is that alcohol?" Jaime asked, nodding to the flask.

Tyrion hurriedly buried the flask in his pockets. "No. How would I get alcohol into the most high security prison in the Seven Kingdoms?"

Jaime sighed. "I suppose there's no sense in asking you to share?"

Tyrion smirked. "So, Brother...How's prison life treating you so far?"

"I've been here for twenty-four hours," Jaime said dryly.

"Well then, I'm sure it'll get exciting, soon."

Jaime huffed, standing and coming over to lean against the bars.

He was dressed in the all orange jumpsuit that prisoners normally wore, his hair slicked back and in desperate need of a shave.

"How was Bravos?" he asked, desperately in need of a distraction. "Get married to any more random girls after a night of drunken frolicking?"

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "I'll ignore that since you've recently been incarcerated. Not nearly as interesting as your life has been without me, I see. Finished my thesis."

Jaime snorted. "Father must be pleased."

"I don't think Father's capable of feeling pleasure at all, just now. He's furious that his golden child is in jail for killing one of the most famous men in the country and there's nothing he can do about it. You've been denied bail." He slanted Jaime a look, but Jaime'd already figured that out. No matter how angry their father was, he wouldn't allow Jaime to wallow away in a prison cell overnight without a reason. "Not even Cersei's recent pregnancy can make him feel better."

Jaime snorted. "Not that it's making her feel better."

"So," Tyrion said then, knowing that talking about Cersei was not a good idea, just now, for which Jaime was strangely relieved, "did you do it?"

Jaime glared at him. "That you even have to ask-"

The door at the end of the hall swung open then, and a tall, ugly thing in a prison uniform stepped through, a baton tied to his waist and a look of annoyance on his features. He glanced from Tyrion to Jaime, and back again.

He hadn't seen this one yet, but then again, he hadn't been in here long.

"Mr. Lannister," the hulking creature said, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave. The visiting hours are over."

Tyrion laughed. "Mr. Lannister is my father, madame."

Jaime goggled, turning and glancing at his guard critically, before noticing that, yes, she was a woman.

If woman was the correct term for her at all.

"Holy Seven," he murmured, "You are a woman."

Tyrion snorted into his flask, and the creature turned to glare at him, ignoring Jaime altogether. "Mr. Lannister, as I said, you need to leave now. Also, liquid beverages are not allowed in this part of the prison. I'm going to have to confiscate that and check that you didn't attempt to smuggle something in to the prisoner."

"Can I have a sip first?" Jaime asked mildly, and the creature shot him the same impressive glare she'd been giving Tyrion, a moment before.

"No, you may not." She turned back to Tyrion, tucking the flask away. Jaime coudn't remember the last time he'd had alcohol. "Mr. Lannister."

Tyrion heaved a sigh. "Oh, fine, fine. Goodbye, Jaime. See you later."

Jaime stiffened then, hands grasping the bars. "Tomorrow?"

Tyrion hesitated. "Probably," he said, with a gentle, reassuring smile, before allowing the creature to escort him out.

Jaime sighed, going to lay down on his prison cot once more and count the number of holes in the cieling, wondering what they were from.


	2. TYRION

Margaery Tyrell was...shorter than Tyrion had expected.

It was something of a welcome surprise.

She was known throughout Westeros for her impeccable abilities as a law student, which had nothing to do with her extremely wealthy family or her Lannisport education, strangely enough, as well as her impeccable taste in fashion.

If he didn't know better, he might call her a psychopath, with her disturbing record of being able to manipulate events to her favor.

It was why she was being considered for the position, of course.

"Ms. Tyrell," he greeted, holding the door open for her and then escorting her to the chair in front of his desk. She sat down, nimble as a cat, hands folded in her lap.

She certainly didn't look impressive, though she was attractive.

"Mr. Lannister," she greeted, after glancing around his office.

"Tyrion, please," he murmured, waving a hand dismissively as he too sat down, pushing aside some papers on his desk absently.

"Tyrion, then," she said, and there was that smile that had become famous on the television, that little smirk that he couldn't stand. "I'll be frank. When your father contacted me about this position, I was...surprised. He doesn't strike me as the sort to...hire someone like me."

Tyrion shrugged. "My father is very progressive when he wishes to be, Ms. Tyrell, and you've proven yourself quite often since your graduation, even if you aren't sixty years old with all the experience of Mr. Pycelle. It isn't often that he bothers, but often enough." He stared at her for a long moment, and then said, "Are you interested in the position?"

"Oh, gods, yes," Margaery said, grinning. "This is the sort of case that could make my career. But I have a few questions. I myself have been...in the starlight a bit recently. I hope that won't make a difference? There are rumors that the Supreme Court will soon be ruling on the matter of marriage equality, and I have a feeling that will be dragging me out again, soon."

Tyrion shrugged. "The most important thing in the world to my father is his family, Ms. Tyrell, and nothing else. Mr. Pycelle, my brother's former lawyer, proved himself inept as well as stupid. That is why he was fired, and the details of his private life were simply an added bonus."

Margaery's lips thinned. "So I heard. So...if I take this job, and fail, your family will see to it that my name is dragged through the mud, as well?"

Tyrion hesitated. "Probably," he said, finally. "The Lannisters always pay their debts."

If anything, Margaery's smile only grew. "Then I think I can make it work. I'm going to need all of the information you have so far, and not just what's been told in court. And I'm going to need access to Jaime Lannister."

Tyrion's smile fell. "He hasn't exactly been any more forthcoming than what we've seen in the Courts, Ms. Tyrell."

She narrowed his eyes. "You mean you've been going into this half-blind all of this time? How've you been winning?"

Tyrion raised a brow. "Surely the woman who got Robert Strong released free of charges isn't so naive, Ms. Tyrell. Dumb luck, of course."


	3. JAIME, CERSEI

"Jaime? The operator, they said it was the prison-"

"Cersei. I needed to hear your voice."

"Well then, I'm sorry I didn't call earlier. Not as if I have a thousand other things to do, but...I'm glad you're all right. Or...is something wrong? Is that why you're calling? Father won't talk to me about what's happening with the trial. He seems to think I 'can't keep my mouth shut where it counts' or something to that effect. I could kill him, Jaime. No one tells me anything."

"Prison is rather lonely without you. Tyrion manages to visit me at least once a week, now, but he's not you."

"Tyrion's not married to a man who suspects his infidelity."

"How are things holding up?"

"I've managed to convince him that the article was backed by our enemies. He hasn't done a DNA test or he would have jumped the excuse to leave me, by now. Too lazy to sit for one, I suppose."

"That's-"

"His friend, Ned Stark, is trying to convince him to do one, anyway."

"Fucking Starks. Fucking Ned Stark, and his arrogant 'honorability.'"

"I'm working on it."

"How?"

"You don't want to know."

"If he's not alive to testify for my trial-"

"Then they'll use old transcripts. What do you care, anyway? It's not as if his testimony is helping you."

"Because they'll suspect us first, Cersei!"

"I don't care. Anyway, we shouldn't be talking about this over a prison phone. They're probably listening in. Joff's turning twenty tomorrow."

"They're not. And I know. Is he still as much of a terror as always, now that he's almost old enough to throw back a few stiff drinks?"

"You're in a mood, today."

"It's a bit difficult to keep up morale behind bars. How are Myrce and Tom, then?"

"They miss their father. He's never around, now."

"Now look who's playing for the prison phone."

"I'm going to hang up if you keep this up."

"Sorry. I just...Tom's in primary school now, yes?"

"Yes. He doesn't enjoy it so much as he does playing with his kittens. I doubt he'll ever enjoy anything half so much. I'm thinking about getting him a private tutor so he doesn't have to go. He keeps calling home 'sick.' He simply doesn't have Joff's ambition. Myrce does, but she refuses to use it."

"He's six."

"All the same. I'm very good about reading people, you know."

"Yes, I know."

"I...saw you on the news yesterday. It was you from a few days ago, since now our loving father won't even let me go to the trial to see you. You look horrible."

"I need to see you, Cers. Please. It's been far too long, and I..."

"Goodbye, Jaime. I need to go. I'll...try to call you again, soon. When I can."


	4. JAIME

"So, Wench, what made you decide to work in an all-male high security prison?" Jaime asked amicably, as the Wench patted him down after his hour in the sunlight, during which he'd spent the entire time walking around the circle of the complex and waiting to be let back in, because he had no interest in causing another spat with the lovely Neo Nazis on the other side of the courtyard.

That cunt of a lawyer, Pycelle, had advised against getting into any sort of trouble in here, if he wanted to get out of here any time soon, and so Jaime was doing as he was told and keeping to himself.

The staff here seemed very concerned that he was going to escape, or had some other nefarious plot in mind; like that would help his case, at all. His father would likely drag him back here himself for daring to go against The Plan.

The Wench had been transferred here with honors from some other high security prison out of state, not that Jaime cared; only, being cooped up in this shithole for weeks at a time with no entertainment did cause some sort of lethargic interet in the boring conversations of the guards at changing times, and he'd happened to overhear that several weeks ago.

Apparently, the Wench was some sort of big deal, when it came to prison guards, though Jaime had never heard of such a thing before he'd actually been tossed into one. He still didn't think it was a real thing.

She was a frightful woman, though, he would give her that. Several heads taller than he was, broad as men twice Jaime's size, and with closely cut blonde hair that seemed designed to be out of the way as much as possible, and yet hung in front of her eyes. He wasn't even sure that he would be able to identify her as a woman, beyond what he'd heard from the other prisoners.

Jaime had taken to calling her 'Wench,' after their second interaction, because she wouldn't tell him her name and it wasn't printed on her guard uniform like every other guards' name was, probably so that the prisoners wouldn't have any ammunition to fap off to, Jaime thought, and he thought it sounded better than 'Creature,' or 'Hey You' anyway. And he didn't want to get into trouble for calling her something actually offensive.

She was still ignoring him, though.

Not that it mattered to Jaime. He would simply have to come up with something more creative.

"How'd you even get a job in an all-male prison? Aren't there laws against that?" he asked, as she keyed in the code for his cell, careful to do it only when his back was turned so that he couldn't see.

Again, it wasn't like he was going anywhere.

Still, silence.

Jaime huffed his own bangs out of his eyes; his hair had been growing rather too long for his liking since he'd entered prison, though damned if the prison was going to allow him basic human rights like being able to shave himself.

Her hands roamed over his body as she patted him down, and Jaime couldn't resisting the parting shot of, "I bet you like doing this, don't you, Wench? It's the only time you get to touch a man," as she finally let go of him and pushed him back into his cell in silence.

She rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed, but Jaime was undeterred.

Jaime smirked. "A reaction! Finally!"

That did spark annoyance in her eyes, if only for a moment, a brief flash that had Jaime inwardly crowing, before she started to move away.

And then, Jaime opened his big mouth one more time.

"I bet they didn't even realize you were a woman when they hired you," he called after her, in a sing-song voice. "And that's why you got the job."

He could almost hear her teeth grinding together before she turned around and stalked back to him, glaring.

"For your information, Lannister," she snapped at him, coming up close enough that he could see her flaring nostrils through the bars, "I got this job because I'm the best at jobs like these, and because my superiors aren't at all concerned about my ability to keep arrogant asses like yours in place. Are we clear?"

Jaime blinked at her. Then, "I think that's rather too much thought you're putting into my ass, Wench," he said, and the Wench groaned before stalking back to her post, pulling out her walkie-talkie, and growling something into it.


	5. SANSA

"I hate the fact that he had his hands all over you," Sansa erupted then, and Margaery glanced at her girlfriend, raising an eyebrow.

"Really?" she asked. "In the middle of X-Files? Sansa, you know how I feel about interrupting the X-Files."

Sansa did, but she rolled her eyes anyway, biting back a smile at the other girl's attempt at mellowing things out between them, as Margaery had been attempting to do since she had taken on Jaime Lannister's case. It had been too long, for Sansa, and she could hold this back no longer, X-Files or no. "He's disgusting, and I've heard terrible rumors about him."

She was speaking, of course, about Joffrey Baratheon, the nephew of Margaery's defendant.

Sansa wasn't entirely sure that the relationship Margaery and Joffrey were carrying on was actually legal, not being a lawyer like Margaery was, even if she understood what Margaery believed to be the necessity of it.

But she had been talked into silence; she already was silent about way too much to do with Margaery. She had seen a picture of them in the corner of soe restaurant, taken by some stray reporter of Mr. Baelish's, set to be released in the tabloids next week while at work today, and she had snapped.

The picture had been innocuous enough, of course; nothing definitive could be tied to them, because Margaery didn't want a serious relationship with her defendant's nephew and was merely using him for information that she couldn't get from Jaime Lannister, as far as Sansa knew, but the doe eyes Margaery had been making toward her date in the photo had been more than enough for Sansa.

Margaery shrugged, letting her head fall on Sansa's shoulder. "He's not what I want in a perfect relationship, either, you know. Thankfully, I'm not in one with him. I'm in one with you."

Sansa swallowed hard. "Are you?"

This time, Margaery rolled her eyes. "Of course I am." She leaned forward, gazing intently into Sansa's eyes. "I love you, and only you, but you know we can't go public with the relationship until after the trial, and it's better to keep the prosecution on their toes. Your father is a key witness, and I'm winning." Her teeth flashed, pure as snow. "It would be a miscarriage of justice." She kissed Sansa's bare shoulder. "Or something like that."

Sansa sighed. "I know, and until then, you have to fend off every suitor in Westeros. I just wish..."

Margaery reached out, lifting Sansa's chin and pecking her cheek. "What do you wish?"

"I wish we could tell my parents, at least."

Margaery raised a brow. "Sansa? Where's this coming from?" She pressed a button on the remote, and the screen went blank as Margaery turned to her girlfriend beside her on the couch.

Sansa bit her lip, let her eyes trail appreciatively down Margaery's form before she blinked and reminded herself of the conversation they'd been having. She shook her head a little. "My mother thinks I haven't dated anyone since Joffrey," she confessed. "And...I used to tell her everything. I...I'm just tired of all of this lying."

Margaery swallowed, wet her lips with her tongue. "And we will," she promised. "We will. As soon as the trial is over."

Sansa stood up abruptly, throwing off the blanket covering her legs. "And when will that be? This trial has been going on for years, Marg. If it's not in one court, it's another." She pouted. "You told me that we would only have to wait until the Supreme Court made a decsion on gay marriage. Loras and Renly are happy now; don't you deserve to be, too?"

Margaery glanced away. "Your parents won't approve."

Sansa shook her head. "They wouldn't approve of all of this sneaking around, either. I just...I just want to tell them. Rip off the band aid."

Margaery sighed.


End file.
